Daughter of the Mountain
by AdorkableChika
Summary: Never in her wildest dreams did Nalila imagine that someday she would be joining the quest to take back Erebor, ancient home of the dwarves. But that is exactly where she finds herself, and there is much more to this journey than reaching the Lonely Mountain. But, as a daughter of the mountain, she is not afraid, and will stand by her king.
1. Chapter 1

_ The first time I saw him, I pitied him._

_ Worn, beaten down by a world that told him that he couldn't. That there was no way to avenge his family, to reclaim his ancient home. That all he would ever do would be wander from place to place, never finding peace or rest._

_ But underneath, there was still a flicker of pride, a trace of his former glory as the prince of a thriving dwarfish realm. Once who still believed that his pillaged kingdom could be saved, who had faith that it could be returned to all its former glory by **his** hands. Hands calloused by decades of hard work, laboring namely as a blacksmith to keep clothes on his back and food in his stomach. Hardly something one would expect of a prince._

_ There was still something in his eyes, though. A sort of steely resolve that said clearly as any words that he would not give up, that he had never forgiven or forgotten the wrong that had been done to him and his people so many years ago._

_ So maybe that's why I joined him. Because I didn't want to see one with such strength fail simply because he could not find enough to join his cause. He laughed at me, yes, because what could a woman do to help him? Though later he relented, albeit reluctantly. I believe that it is only because his other allies are so few in number. And when we gathered later, I too felt the chill touch of despair. For what can thirteen and a half dwarves - for I am no pure blood, my mother being of the Race of Men - do against a dragon? Many believe that the terrible beast is dead, but nothing is ever that easy. Even if Smaug is entombed in his stolen hoard of dwarven gold and jewels, there will be others vying for the long-lost treasure. I fear that whatever happens, there will be a dear price to pay._

_ However, I am not afraid. For I am Nalila Dragonfire, daughter of the mountain, and I will stand by my king._

**_Taken from the Day Book of Nalila Dragonfire, daughter of Runor, son of Ragrim._**

**I've finally decided to jump on the bandwagon and join this new parade of fan fictions based on 'The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey' that seem to be popping up everywhere. I mean, who doesn't enjoy that movie, or a blurb based off of it? Granted, the audience is likely ninety percent female, and there for Thorin and his two nephews - I admit, that's most of the reason I'm such a fan - which I will cater to. The Thorin fans, at least. Sorry to those of you who wanted to see Fili or Kili, but they'll come. I have an idea for another fan fiction revolving around them, so don't bash me yet =P**

**They'll still be in this, however, so fear not. And this note is getting way too long, because I'm rambling. Nothing new, but yes. Please sit back and enjoy my take on this Tolkien and Jackson created masterpiece, along with a new character thrown in for . . . well, you'll see.**

**And yup, this is my first story on here. I'm still trying to figure out how the site works, so bear with me. I have this up on Wattpad as well, under the name of The_Mad_DJ, so I'm not stealing this, it is my own work. And I know that site much better, so it might be a bit cleaner in appearance there, since I actually know what I'm doing :P**


	2. Arrivals, appetites, and blunted knives

**Should probably say, I don't own any of this. Anything recognizable belongs to Tolkien and/or Jackson, the lucky sods.**

Standing outside the perfectly circular door, staring at the mark so frequently used by the one commonly known as Gandalf the Grey, Nalila paused for the first time since leaving home. Well, not her real home, though she'd lived in the tiny dwelling with her parents - then only her father after her mother passed from old age - for as long as she could remember, it wasn't where she really belonged. And that was why she was here, standing indecisively on the doorstep, listening to the voices deep inside the house.

She did not look entirely out of place here in the Shire. Her eyes were a slate grey with the slightest hint of green, and her hair, though not as curly as a hobbit's, was still a common shade of light brown, the topmost layers bleached several shades paler by years of exposure to the sun.

The half-dwarf was not much taller than the area's inhabitants either, having inheirited her father's short stature. Her mother's influence was obvious as well, however, giving her a slightly more slender build than the average dwarf, which belied a brawny strength. Her smaller size often made her the laughingstock among Men, until she learned how to weild a sword. And an ax as well, to stay true to both sides of her heritage. And both weapons were on her person at the moment, earning her a number of stares indeed on her trek through the neighboring fields. That, along with the obviously dwarvish braids in her hair, had been what really marked her as an outsider. But she was used to that. Gawped at among the dwarves for being a woman, and whispered about among Men for her small size, she'd long come to the conclusion that she'd never quite fit in, regardless of where she went.

A crash and roar of laughter from inside brought Nalila out of her thoughts, and before she could dither any longer she knocked firmly on the door. Moments later, it was opened by a rather flustered looking hobbit. His mouth was open, obviously to snap at her, but noticing her fairer features and feminine build he paused, giving her a chance to speak.

"You are Master Baggins, correct?" Of course he was, Gandalf's mark was on the front door, and Nalila had never known the wizard to make a mistake.

"Y-yes, yes I am," the hobbit stuttered, bobbing slightly in what might've been an awkward bow. "Master Baggins - Bilbo - that's me."

Poor fellow. Already his nevers seemed quite badly frayed. "Nalila, at your service." With a deep bow of her own, she stepped inside. Looking around as she unstrapped the sword belt from around her waist, she handed it to the hobbit, who looked shocked to see a woman carrying weapons, before starting to undo the cross-straps that held her ax.

"Lovely place you have here," the dwarf maiden commented as the hobbit - Bilbo, he'd said his name was - gingerly took the second weapon.

But any reply that the stunned homeowner might've spoken was drowned out by the cheerful shout of her name. Nalila turned to see one of the youngest members of the company, Kili, grinning broadly at her. Despite the fact that they had met only briefly several weeks prior, a friendship had begun to bloom. He already felt like a playful younger brother, which was only enforced when he greeted her with a typical bone-crushing hug.

"Kili! I thought that I was early," she said, her delighted expression closely mirroring his own as she let him lead her deeper into the house, presumably to the pantry. Nalila knew full sell of the dwarves' legendary appetites, having one herself, making the thought of food after a day on the road a welcome one.

"You are, a bit. It's just me, Fili, Balin, and Dwalin." Her grin grew slightly at Kili's words. She had known Balin before joining this comany, as as his brother Dwalin, and viewed him as a sort of grandfather figure.

At that moment, Dwalin emerged from what Nalila guessed to the the pantry, judging from the massing ham he carried.

"Ah, hello lassie," he rumbled, nadding at Nalila before continuing around the two.

Doubting that the currently empty table would stay that way for long, the female peered into the pantry. Kili had rejoined Balin and his own brother Fili, who's grin matched his brother's when he caught sight of the newcomer.

"Nalila!" The ends of his braided mustache tickled along her jaw as he kissed her cheek in greeting before thrusting a bowl of various fruits into her hands. "Put that on the table, will you?"

The girl - or woman, more accurately, considering that she had passed her one hundred and fiftieth birthday recently, middle-aged for a dwarf - snagged part of a vine of grapes as she carried aforementioned bowl to the table. Which had been moved out of the dining room and into the hallway to provide more room. And that was something that they'd certainly need, given how many more were going to be fathering there that night.

At that moment, Bilbo stormed past her, clearly no longer at a loss for words. "There's far too many dwarves in my dining room as it is," he was ranting, heading for the front door. "If this is some clot-head's idea of a joke -" here he laughed, but it was a rather mirthless sound, "- I can only say, it is in very poor taste."

The faint creak of hinges as the door opened was accompanied by several yelps and a heavy thud. Very heavy indeed, actually, considering that the highly overweight Bombur was one of the eight to tumble inside, landing on top of the others.

Not a quarter of an hour later, the table was so heavily laden with food taht the actual table top was barely visible. The poof hobbit was trying to save some of his foodstuffs, but to no avail. "Excuse me, not my wine. Put that back. Put that back!" He ordered, but his protests fell on deaf ears. Especially when he began arguing with Oin, who was decidedly hard of hearing, about not sitting on an antique chair. And Nalila didn't bother stifling her laughter when, on yet another trip to the rapidly empyting pantry, she passed Bombur, who was carrying several large wheels of cheese. the dwarf's load didn't escape Bilbo's attention either, and his eyes widened. "Have you got a cheese knife?"

"'Cheese knife'?" Echoed Bofur, the rotund fellow's brother, before continuing as he breezed past the hobbit. "He eats it by the block."

Bilbo sputtered, and was soon off elsewhere, saving what of his house that he could.

But then the dwarves were settling down, taking seats, and Nalila found herself between Bofur and Dori. A good seat, when she wasn't avoiding being smacking by the "ears" of Bofur's hat every time he turned his head.

The level of hilarity built quickly, and in a matter of minutes Dwalin was pouring ale into Ain's earpiece, surprising Nalila, who had always believed him to a more serious sort of fellow. His actions had the older, half-deaf dwarf sputtering, before topping the moment by blowing though the instrument, showering everyone around the table with ale. Which brought on a hearty round of drinks - Nalila participating, despite dubious looks from several others - that naturally ended with a belching contest, cheers and shouts of approval echoing through Bag-end.

As the meal ended, the dwarves began drifting around in search of anything else edible, most staying in the general vincity and filling the air with boisterious chatter. Nalila, standing a bit away from the group with a second mug of ale, overheard Bilbo talking to Gandalf as his voice rose in frustration.

"I don't want to get used to them!" He was saying, gesturing wildly. "Look at the state of my kitchen! There's mud trod into the carpet. They've pillaged the pantry. I'm not even going to tell you what they've done to the bathroom. They've destroyed the plumbing. I don't understand what they're doing in my house!"

"Having a very good time, thank you very much." It took Bilbo a moment to focus on the female leaning against the nearby wall, and he nodded slightly, looking almost confused.

"You're welcome, ma-am -"

"Nalila," she interrupted him fimly. "That's my name. Use it."

"Yes, yes, of course . . . Nalila."

The dwarf smiled at him over the rim of her mug, and the hobbit seemed about the return it, much to the delight of the wizard standing nearby, when another dwarf interrupted the moment.

"Excuse me. I'm sorry to interrupt, but what should I do with my plate?"

Fili stepped in before Bilbo could reply. "Here you go, Ori, give it to me." And in a swift gesture - and much to Bilbo's horror - he flunt the plate down the short hallway, just missing Gandalf, for Kili to catch it deftly. In turn, he whirled and threw it through the doorway behind him. Bifur, who was currently in the kitchen, caught it, then another, without even bothering to turn to face the other dwarf.

Several of the dwarves who were still seated began alternately drumming the silverware on the table and clanging them together, making Bilbo cut in. "And can you not do that? You'll blunt them."

"Ooh, you hear that lads?" From the look on Bofur's face, it was obvious that the hobbit's distress amused him. "He says we'll blunt the knives."

"_Blunt the knives, bend the forks._" Kili's voice was thick with laugher as he tossed yet another plate to Bifur.

"_Smash the bottles and burn the corks._" Bouncing a plate from elbow to elbow, Fili sent it winging towards his brother as the rest of the dwarves joined in.

"_Chip the glasses and crack the plates . . . that's what Bilbo Baggins hates!_

_ Cut the cloth, trail the fat, leave the bones on the bedroom mat._

_ Pour the milk on the pantry floor . . . splash the wine on every door!_"

Throughout this, Bilbo had an expression somewhere between amazement and horror on his face. As Nalila passed him with a towering stack of dishes, she gave him a playful, reassuring wink that didn't seem to do much as she joined in with the next stanza.

"_Dump the crocks in a boiling bowl, pound them up with a thumping pole._

_ When you're finished, if they are whole . . . send them down the hall to roll!_"

Bofur and Oin began a rousing backup tune with a pipe and teapot as they belted out, "_That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!_"

Bilbo Baggins himself finally pushed through the crowd of dwarves at that moment to see his mother's West Farthing pottery - over a hundred years old - perfectly intact and clean, stacked neatly on the table. But all laughter died away as a powerful, rather demanding knock came at the front door, and they all turned in that direction.

The mood of the room sobered greatly in the few seconds pause before Gandalf murmured, "He is here."


End file.
